


The Tip of the Iceberg

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon watches Illya and compares him to an iceberg.  Written for slashtheimage, Prompt 40</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tip of the Iceberg

                     

 

He sat quietly in the Canteen, just watching people.  In his line of work, it was something he was well used to.  It behooved him to watch and observe.  The crowd was starting to thin out, with folks hurrying back to their desks or positions.  Those left lingered over coffee or a bit of pie.

His partner was sitting, his back to him and it amused Napoleon to watch the blond interact with their colleagues.  In the not-too-distant past, Illya would have been shunned, ignored either through resentment, pettiness, or sheer ignorance. 

The first year had been hard on Illya.  Napoleon knew he kept a resignation letter in his top drawer.  Napoleon would watch him pull it out and turn it over in his hands.  Then it would be returned to the drawer and Napoleon’s heart would start beating again.  So many times it had been so close.

Then, something swung just a little, a begrudging admission of respect or even admiration and slowly Illya had been accepted into the UNCLE family.  Certainly there were still naysayers, but they were everywhere.

Now Illya had a small circle of friends and a much larger circle of acquaintances.  Yet Napoleon knew none of them knew Illya the way he did.

Illya was like an iceberg.  People saw what was exposed to the elements, but they were blind to the part of Illya kept hidden well away from everyone.  Well, nearly everyone.

Napoleon took a sip of ice cold coffee and smiled. 

                                                                                                ****

               

It had been a devil of an assignment.  Everything that could go wrong had and in the worst possible way.  Beaten and nearly at their wits end, something had suddenly gone right and they were able to snatch away the victory THRUSH so coveted.  Yet, it had come at a high cost.  A school had been destroyed and while no children were killed, many had been grievously injured.  The flames had leapt to a nearby library and it, too, was reduced to ashes.  Somehow their victory seemed less than satisfactory.

Napoleon uncovered the badly burned body of what he thought had been a child and lost it.  Later investigation proved it was a doll, but it was too late.   He had to get out while Illya stayed behind to supervise. 

Napoleon admired Illya’s ability to push the emotion aside and just get it done.  Napoleon couldn’t.  He raged, cried, and cursed the devils that delivered this blow.  Illya remained stoic and quiet.

He dragged himself into their small room.  He’d gone out for a drink and some companionship, but all he could taste and smell was the smoke.  It clung to the inside of his throat, nose, and mouth until he mumbled some half-hearted excuse to his companion of the evening and slipped away.

He walked the streets for a long time until only the echo of his footsteps broke the silence of the night.  He mentally berated himself for not being stronger.  He waded in and did what he could.  Hell, they both did, but Napoleon’s heart ached.  Illya had never flinched.  He did all that he needed to with a purposeful scowl and a single-mindedness Napoleon envied.

He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.  The cold made his fingers stiff and the key rattled furiously.  He got the door open after what seemed like an eternity and entered.

The room was dark, which Napoleon expected.  What he didn’t expect was for the bed to be empty.  Illya had said he was staying in, but Napoleon knew how quickly things could change in their moods.  Then he heard the shower running and nodded.  He would be heading there next in an attempt to wash the memories from his mind.

He’d gotten to the center of the room when he first heard the noise.  It was like the keen of a wounded animal.  Napoleon went into a defensive crouch and looked around the room.  There were too many shadows.  Evil things hid in shadows.  Retracing his footsteps, he hit the overhead light.

Glancing around the room, there was nothing.  Then he realized it was coming from the bathroom.  Instantly he had visions of Illya having fallen and in grievous pain.  Without thinking about it, Napoleon pushed open the door and stopped.

Illya was curled up on the floor and the noise was coming from him and suddenly Napoleon realized his partner was not as cold or stoic as Napoleon had thought.  Without a moment’s hesitation, he went to Illya, gathered him up in his arms and cried with him.

“I’m sorry,” Illya murmured when at last he could speak.

“For what?”  Napoleon sniffed, wishing he had his handkerchief, but not wanting to release Illya.  Right now he felt Illya was his only handhold in a world gone mad.

“For not being stronger.  For them.  For you.”

“For me?”

“Isn’t that what you want from me?”  Illya knuckled his eye, looking more like a five-year old than a deadly UNCLE agent.  “My strength?”

Napoleon didn’t know what possessed him, but he reached up and brought Illya’s head down to kiss his forehead.  “I want your compassion, Illya, and your presence beside me.”  He studied the face so close to his and felt a wave of desire that crested before he was almost aware of it.  It rained down upon him and he let it sweep him away, kissing Illya’s lips, making a little needy sound when Illya responded back.

There was a sudden thrashing of limbs as clothes were hastily discarded, ripped when they didn’t cooperate.  They were on the bed, wrapped in each other’s embrace, thrusting blindly against anything bit of flesh they could find, thirsty for the taste of each other. 

Napoleon’s climax was too fast and too hard to be pleasurable.  A cry was ripped from him as he ejaculated and Illya was a few seconds behind him. 

Exhausted, numb and slightly embarrassed, they were both quiet for several long minutes.

“Was this a mistake?”  Napoleon didn’t know which one of them asked it.

“I don’t want it to be.”

Later that week, Napoleon discovered that a sizeable donation had been made to the town to help it rebuild its school and library.  The donor wished to be anonymous, but Napoleon knew who it was just as sure as he was certain of his love for a certain blue-eyed blond.

It would happen again and again in their career.  People saw only a bit of the man that Napoleon knew.  Only Napoleon was privy to Illya’s secret side and only rarely did he glimpse it – a shy smile, wonder that widened Illya’s eyes to child-like amazement, the quiet peace that descended over Napoleon’s heart and soul as he lay in Illya’s embrace.  These were private, closely-guarded moments and Napoleon was secretly delighted that he didn’t have to share them.

Let other say what they would.  He knew the depth of Illya, the underside of the iceberg as it were, a peek at the complex passions that made up the man.

                                                                                ****

A jostle of his table brought Napoleon back to the here and now with a start.  “Hey, Solo!”  Duncan Radcliff was a Section Three agent, Napoleon‘s equivalent.  “Do they pay you yahoos in Section Two to daydream?”

“Not as a rule.”

‘So what had you all goofy eyed? Dreaming of your date?”

“Why would you ask that?”  Napoleon crossed his legs and prayed that his erection would go away before he had to get up.

“You had a big crap-eating grin on your face.  No man smiles like that unless he’s thinking about love or sex or both.”

Napoleon held up his hands on mock surrender.  “Guilty as charged.”

“I thought as much.  Listen, I got the tests back from the lab.  Kuryakin was right.  There was a secondary blast, but they were able to recover enough of the code left to be able to make a good start at crack it. He’s really something, isn’t he?  Sure isn’t the quiet young kid that came knocking on our door a few years ago.”  Radcliff was looking at Illya.  He’d not exactly been in Illya’s corner when the Russian had first arrived, but even he had eventually admitted reluctant admiration for Illya’s abilities. 

“Nope,” Napoleon said.  “But I, for one, am glad we recruited him.  I’d hate to think what would have happened if THRUSH had gotten him.”

“THRUSH?  Like that would happen.  Kuryakin is many things, but he’s as single-minded and straight forward as they come.”

While Napoleon had been rehashing old memories, Illya had constructed something from a collection of paper cups, silverware, and napkins.  He held up a hand, making sure that everyone was watching and hit the spoon.  It flipped up, hit a fork which hit a cup, and a balled-up napkin which had been sitting on a knife popped up and balanced on the end of the fork.

“I’ll be damned,” Napoleon muttered.

“Only Kuryakin… How the hell does he do that?” Radcliff asked, laughing.  “He seems like such a quiet and average guy when you meet him.  You’d think there was nothing there.”  The people at the table were handing over bills to a gracious Illya.

Napoleon smiled as Illya looked over and grinned mischievously, then ducked his head.  Illya would be paying for dinner tonight and driven by this success, their afterwards would the thing to write poetry about.  There was nothing average about Illya.  “Oh, believe me, there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
